


Next in Line

by jendavis



Category: The Losers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hc_bingo prompt "cuddling for warmth/ snowed in."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next in Line

Missions had a way of going south, these days. Which was stupid, because this one had wound up going so far north that they were practically in the freaking _arctic_ , but still.

It wasn't like they were cursed, or anything, and yeah, they'd pulled it off. Just- and nobody was saying it, it hadn't gotten that bad yet, and fuck if Jensen knew when they'd finally hit _that_ particular wall- but Roque? He'd been tactically realistic in ways that Clay, the white fucking knight, just wasn't.

Roque probably would've come up with something slightly better than _wait for the Lubyanka to completely pin us down, then roll the dice on shooting our way out._

Okay, so it wasn't Clay's fault, not entirely, but the head wound was making Jensen a little bit cranky. The blood from the cut was slowing, though, probably frozen, but at least it wasn't streaming into his eye any more. So that was a plus.

He was about to turn around, tell the others as much, but Aisha spoke first, her voice muffled through the scarf covering her face. “The fuck's _his_ problem?”

Jensen followed her eyes across the icy parking lot, saw Cougar stalking away, back towards the warehouse and around the corner. “I don't know, “ he shrugged. “Frankly, it's troubling. He's usually _such_ a polite young man. I'm worried that he's fallen in with a bad crowd.” Honestly, though? It had been almost half an hour since the last shot had been fired, and it was fucking _freezing_ out here. Jensen was a little surprised to see Cougar, in his useless leather jacket, had stuck it out this long.

Aisha rolled her eyes, unimpressed, then ducked around the side of the truck, where Pooch and Clay were up to their elbows in the half-useless engine.

Jensen went back to humming for a moment before stepping up. “So you need any help?”

“You could bleed all over the engine block," Pooch suggested. "That would make things much easier.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” Clay stood up. “And don't even start with the period jokes.”

“I wasn't gonna-” Jensen said, immediately thinking of three really good ones. “ _Damn_ it!”

“Okay, we're going to be able to drive out of here, but there's not going to be any heat,” Clay said, scanning the empty parking lot as he jammed his hands under his arms, trying to warm them. “Jensen, find Cougar and grab some blankets, coats, whatever. It's a long drive back to Moscow. We leave in five."

\---

There wasn't as much wind on this side of the building, but Cougar's shoulders were hunched in tight as he curled in on himself, pressing against the wall to leave as little of himself exposed to the air as possible.

Jensen coughed, as if he hadn't been heard coming a mile off, and said, "Cougs. Hey, how's your neck?”

Cougar raised his head to the side, glaring at him from under his hat, a little more sharply than usual. _Fucking awesome, asshole._ He'd lost his scarf in the fight, and when he turned his head, Jensen could make out the purpling bruises over his windpipe.

“Seriously? That bad, huh.” Jensen reached out, for some stupidly suicidal reason, telling himself he meant to flip Cougar's collar up against the wind, rather than the sight, but Cougar flinched out of the way as quickly as he usually did.

As quickly as he hadn't managed, earlier, when that Lubyankan bastard was pressing him down into the warehouse floor with a knee on his chest and his hands around his throat.

\---

It wasn't that Cougar couldn't hold his own, fuck no. He could throw the hell down with the best of them. He _had_ managed to take out four men- _on his own, no thanks to anyone_ \- but it was the fifth that had been problematic, anyway.

Thing is, Jensen figured, Cougar was a sniper. Long range eliminations. Meant he didn't get in too close, most of the time. His hands still got dirty, powder burns and probably hundreds of people dead, by now, but he didn't usually have to scrub someone else's skin from under his fingernails, afterwards. Jobs like this one, when it got too close to be filtered through a rifle's scope, took him a bit longer to shake off.

And with temperatures hovering at a billion degrees below zero, Cougar wasn't likely to be even trying, any time soon.

 _Una miseria a la vez, huh?_ Cougar had only said it once, but it had stuck in Jensen's brain to the point where had probably become a _mantra_ , or some shit. _One misery at a time. Handle it, and move on to the next one_. Like he could put it all in order, write a program, build a system around it, as soon as he learned the code.

"Least the cold's good for bruises, right?" he stepped backwards, feeling the wind once again tearing at his face, razor sharp. "C'mon. They've got the truck running, but there's not going to be any heat. We're on blankey detail."

\---

They'd shot out most of the windows, enough that the first floor wasn't any warmer than the parking lot. Here and there, bodies were cooling, and hell, that one in the corner looked like it was already frozen to the floor.

Cougar moved silently between the bodies, and Jensen only tripped once as they made their way back through the warehouse. Inside, here, out of the wind, Jensen was becoming seriously warm, and he knocked his hood back off his head, earning a cross glare from Cougar.

 _You're just jealous._ Jensen waited until his back was turned to smirk. _Told you to dress for Russia in winter, didn't I?_

Out on the loading dock, they found several blankets sitting folded on the shelves. They were stiff, like cardboard, and probably meant more to protect objects during shipping, but they were better than a kick in the teeth. They'd do nicely.

\---

The truck was sputtering to life as they drew near, and Jensen shoved Cougar in first, before passing a few of the blankets up to Aisha and Clay as he did so.  He then found himself having to bat Cougar's frozen hands out of the way, because Pooch didn't seem to be planning on unclenching his frozen fists any time soon, either, and for some reason- probably his innate genius, really- Jensen was the only one whose fingers actually _worked_.

It still took a few miles to get the blanket situated.

Another two miles after that, though, Jensen had to unzip his coat, ease his arms out because he was overheating, and he'd barely done so before he felt Cougar sliding closer, _slowly_ , not wanting the others to catch on, and apparently not wanting _Jensen_ to notice, either.

Jensen scanned Pooch out of the corner of his eye, trying to see if they'd been made, but he was too busy driving from the backseat, now, to pay them any mind at all. It wasn't like Jensen had been planning on dislodging Cougar if they'd been seen, but the heat was making him woozy, too tired to put up with the ribbing.

Besides, the next crisis would probably already be there, waiting, as soon as they arrived in Moscow, and as far as he was concerned, it could just. Fucking. Wait. _Una miseria a la vez_.

\---

Aisha and Pooch were arguing with Clay, and normally, Jensen would chime in- it wasn't like he didn't have some amazingly insightful complaints saved up, after all- but Cougar, it seemed, was starting to warm up. Just enough, apparently, to start shivering, and his attempts to keep his jaws clenched shut to stop his teeth chattering were mostly failing. It was distracting as hell.

And seriously, why Cougar didn't get it by now, Jensen didn't fucking know.

He wound his free arm up and pulled him a bit closer- _yeah, Cougs, you've been made_ \- and the leather of Cougar's jacket was freezing, through the material of his shirt, but it began warming soon enough. He pulled Cougars hand into his coat too, for good measure.

He could feel the muscles tensing, and waited for the moment that Cougar would decide that this was all too close, but instead, he felt fingers digging into his ribs, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. Another few moments, and Cougar was sinking against him. Like he'd had to talk the tension out of his muscles, first.

He ran his hand up and down against Cougar's side a few times, but didn't push it, and turned and looked out the window, pretending disinterest in case the others were looking. There wasn't much else he could do, really, but this was pretty sweet. Kind of fun, to be sitting here with Cougar wrapped around him like they both hadn't mastered the fine art of flying under the radar. Kind of awesome, to feel the shivers start to subside, to feel him breathing almost normally, now.

\---

Jensen watched the lights of another town pass by in the distance and waited. Any minute, Cougar would be pulling away.

Five miles later, he still hadn't, and Jensen was starting to think that he'd dropped off, fallen asleep or something, but Cougar was shifting against him again, burrowing into his side, and holding him a bit more tightly. It wasn't like he was trying to cop a feel- _that_ was something Jensen had learned to read from a mile off- but Cougar had warmed up, now.

It wasn't until Cougar swallowed, his head bobbing with the effort, that Jensen caught on.

 _Una miseria a la vez_.

This wasn't just about the cold any more, but like the delay before the shivering set in, this hands on his throat, catching up to him again.

An hour ago, hell, maybe less, Cougar'd nearly died. _If Clay hadn't made that shot-_

If he tightened his arms, if he dipped his fingers up and under the leather to brush against the skin of Cougar's back, it was only because Cougar needed the contact enough to let him get away with it. Because yeah, Jensen wasn't the white knight, he hadn't been the one to save the day, but _this_ , he could manage. If it happened to make him feel any better on the way, hey, bonus.

Up front, Aisha was saying they had another hundred and seventy miles to go.

There'd probably be another mess or twelve waiting for them when they arrived. More chaos, more blood. From here, though it seemed almost manageable. Like he could write that program.

He rested his head against the cold glass and let his eyes slide shut, various cycles of code that didn't exist winding through his brain as he let himself drift.

 _One at a time. Initiate, handle, outlast, move on, repeat, No. Discover objective, engage, withstand, deal, repeat. Not quite. Prepare, attack, survive, get a hand up Cougar's shirt and take a nap._

Closer now. Close enough. 


End file.
